“Nah,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets again. “I knew what she was trying to do. I didn’t screw with her . . . well, not too much. She’s pretty cool, Grayson. Genuine. Too nice for my taste but, like I said, the kind of girl to get serious about. And you should. Get serious.”
“Yeah, maybe . . . we’ll see,” I said, keeping my cards close to my chest. Luke may have appeared to be sincere about manning up, but I wasn’t going to take a chance, especially not with Wren.
“Gotta fly. Heading over to Foley’s for damage control. Wanna come?”
“You’re serious?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Can’t. I’m not sure I’m allowed to leave the house until I’m eighteen. How screwed is that?”
He stopped halfway down the stairs and looked back up.
“It would have been fucking epic, you know. Us. In Amsterdam.”
Maybe there was some parallel universe, where all of our different paths played themselves out. One where I was with the guys, experiencing the endless party we’d thought cruising the rosse buurt could be. I tried to put post–term-paper-pimp Grayson in that vision, the way I’d imagined myself the year before. How much I’d wanted it, that goal, the freedom, that time fooling around with my friends before getting serious. Could have been legendary, for sure, but this path I was on with Wren, uncertain as it was . . . made me feel more alive and aware, than that one ever had. That was something Luke would never understand, something he’d never be able to measure against.
I smiled. “Yeah, would have been epic.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
WREN
“WREN, NEVER WOULD HAVE PEGGED YOU AS THE Caswell to leave the biggest mark on the Camelot,” my brother, Josh, said, raising his glass to the table.
Brooke, Pete, and Eben applauded. I resisted the urge to look down, instead sticking my chin out and bowing slightly. Once word had gotten out that the Camelot was closing, the intimate Christmas party my mother had planned for the staff turned into a good-bye party that filled half the Lancelot ballroom with current and former employees.
My parents had even pardoned my sentence for the evening, and both Mads and Jazz were set to arrive at any minute. The mood in the room was festive, but there was one staff member noticeably missing. At least to me. It had only been a week, and I still hadn’t spoken to Grayson about anything that had happened. I’d been anxious to hear his version of the night.
“Yes, the story of ‘How I Took Down the Love Shack’ . . . Wouldn’t that be a stellar college essay?” I said, raising my ginger ale. It felt weird to joke about the love shack in front of everyone. Being the center of attention was still a position I wasn’t comfortable with, especially when it was for something that was semiscandalous.
“That would be a page-turner. Give the admissions people a little thrill for a change,” Josh said.
“Please don’t turn her into the female version of you. She’s Hoya material,” Brooke said, giving my hand a squeeze.
“Ha. Hoya material. I have a feeling I’d be majoring in babysitting if I went to Georgetown,” I answered, patting Brooke’s small but newly rounded belly. “We’ll see.”
“Love shack? Why haven’t I heard about this before?” Pete asked. Brooke waved him off.
“Just a nickname for the cottage. I have no clue how it got that name.”
“Brooke, darling, didn’t you coin that phrase?” Eben asked, tipping his Corona to her.
“Reeeally . . .” Pete said.
“Nope, I think it goes back much farther than that,” I said, remembering my parents and the way they’d acted at the kitchen table the night of the love shack incident. I shivered and took a sip of my ginger ale while the others looked at me expectantly.
Eben beamed. “Ooh, do tell, Miss Wren.”
“Nope. I’m a vault.”
“See, it’s the quiet ones who know all the good secrets,” Josh said.
“Oh. Look. Saved by the text,” I said, waving my phone.
We’re here!! Meet us in the lobby!! xoxoM&J
I raced across the parquet dance floor in my riding boots, nearly knocking into Mom and Dad, who were slow dancing near the edge of the dance floor. The prospect of actually hanging out with Jazz and Mads made me giddy. My parents had all but banished me to the highest tower in the kingdom, and my week had consisted of going to school, coming home, and—well, that was basically it. I was fiending for some fun with my girls.
“Hey, why didn’t you just come in?” I asked, rushing into the lobby to meet them.
“Oh, you know, we wanted to make a grand entrance with the lady of scandal,” Mads said, taking off her coat. She was rocking her red minidress and ankle boots. Jazz wore a black mini too, with a pair of sparkly heels. Neither of them needed me for a grand entrance.
“You guys look awesome,” I said, taking their coats.
Maddie smoothed down her skirt. “I was promised some hot college guys to flirt with, so I hope this party delivers.”
Jazz was silent, standing there with a goofy grin on her face.
“What?”
“We brought you an early Christmas present,” she said, motioning behind me.
I pivoted around. In the corner, standing near Sir Gus, was Grayson.
He was wearing the blazer from that first day in the park with a gray CBGB tee underneath, and a seductive smile that made every nerve in my body crackle to attention. My heart swelled standing there; all I wanted to do was tackle him, but I wasn’t even sure he was supposed to be at the party. The coats dropped to the floor. A grin I could hardly contain broke across my face as we drifted toward each other. Grayson caught me, and we spun, my feet barely touching the ground. I clung to him, burying my face in his neck and inhaling the earthy scent of his hair.
“You feel sooooooooo good,” he whispered in my ear. His grip loosened as his hands wandered the length of my body. Maddie cleared her throat.
“Guys, you know you have an audience.”
“That was so adorable,” Jazz added, clapping. “Westley and Buttercup have nothing on you guys.”
I stepped back and peeked into the ballroom. The slow song had ended, and my parents were speaking with Chef Hank by the bar. I turned back to Grayson. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited,” he said.
“Really?”
“Hey, hello, still here,” Mads said, grinning. “Just point us in a direction, and we’ll leave you two to catch up.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, collecting their jackets from where I’d dropped them on the floor and bringing them over to the coatroom. “We’re sitting with Josh, Eben, Brooke, and Pete—over there, see.”
“C’mon, Jazzy,” Mads said, grabbing her hand. “Holla if you guys need a fire hose!”
“Mads!” Jazz said, shaking her head and following her into the ballroom.
The doors snicked shut behind them, and Grayson pulled me toward the corner again, by Sir Gus, out of view of the ballroom for a proper Haven’t seen you in a week greeting. I wrapped my arms around him, still in disbelief that he was actually in front of me. Our lips touched, and I was swept away in the warmth of his kiss. I hadn’t realized we were moving until I felt the cross-guard of Sir Gus’s sword jab into my back. We nearly knocked him off his pedestal.
“Who invited you?” I asked when we stopped for a breath. Our arms remained loosely around each other, neither one of us wanting to let go. I leaned back to take in his face.
He looked toward the ballroom, then back at me. “Your father.”
“Um, what?” I asked, breaking our hold.
“Yep, went to his office during the week,” he answered, smiling. “I gave him some money for the damages.”
“You paid for the window? He didn’t tell me that,” I said.
“Well, it was from me, Luke, and Andy,” Grayson said, taking both my hands in his and drawing me close to him again. “Wren, sorry doesn’t even begin to make up for the other night
. I don’t know why I let you be part of that crazy plan.”
“Grayson, that crazy plan was partly my idea. I wanted to be involved. The consequences weren’t . . . well, they don’t suck as bad as I thought. Especially now.”
“You must have gotten into some serious trouble with your parents,” he said, brushing his lips across mine.
“I think the thing that bothered my father most was when I told him we were at the love shack to be alone,” I said.
He tossed back his head. “You told him that? Snap. If I’d known before, I don’t think I would have gone to see him. I’m surprised I got an invite.”
“Did the crazy plan work at least? Did you talk to Luke?”
“He’s over the Amsterdam thing, if that’s what you mean.”
“So . . . that means . . .”
“It’s over.”
“And that means . . .”
The ballroom doors flung open.
“Hey, you two, it’s a party—get in here,” Eben said, grabbing my hand. Maddie was right behind him, swaying to the beat of the music that pounded over the sound system. She seized Grayson by the arm and they led us into the ballroom.
Everyone, young and old, staff and their guests, were crammed onto the dance floor, doing the “Cha Cha Slide.” Eben and Maddie hopped right back in without missing a step, waving us to join them. Jazz had her high heels off and was next to Josh, demonstrating how to take it back. Josh bumped into a few people when they turned to the left, then gave up the proper steps altogether and took Jazz by the hand and spun her around.
Grayson and I stood on the edge of the dance floor.
“Wanna dance?” he asked.
“You can’t be serious; no . . . I don’t do the group thing,” I said, shrinking back from the crowd.
“C’mon,” Grayson said, “this is my jam.”
“Your jam?”
“Yeah, isn’t it about time we just had . . . fun . . . you and me?” he said, bending his knees and bouncing along with the beat. He swayed his hips in a way that made me laugh. I inched a little closer.
“You and me, I love that.”
He grinned and stepped into the throng of partiers.
“Then what are you waiting for?” he asked, extending his hand.
There were so many ways to screw this up. I could trip . . . knock into someone and cause a domino effect of fallen dancers . . . make a complete ass of myself. As I stood there, surrounded by the people I loved most, I knew no one would laugh at me even if I took a nose-dive onto the parquet floor.
And in the center of them all stood Grayson.
Waiting.
For me.
A promise . . .
I grabbed his hand.
It was time to dance.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Most of the time writing is such a solitary activity: hours at a desk, staring into space and living in the world inside my head. But the truth is, this book would not have been possible without the following amazing people:
Tamar Rydzinski: Quite simply, one phone call after a dreary day at the DMV changed my life. I could not ask for a better champion of my work. Thank you for believing in my writing, pushing me to make it sing, answering questions both significant and mundane with the same calm assurance, and for helping me keep my stiletto in the door.
Donna Bray: I have only dreamed of working with an editor as kind, down-to-earth, and savvy as you. Thank you for loving Wren and Grayson as much as I do, and for making me dig deeper in the story than I ever thought I could. (And thanks too for introducing me to Veronica Mars. Not sure how I made it this long without watching!)
Viana Siniscalchi: Thank you for your enthusiasm—your emails always feel like a smile delivered to my in-box.
Infinite thanks to the extraordinary team at Balzer + Bray and HarperCollins. I’m still pinching myself that there are so many talented and dynamic people working on this book. Thank you for making me feel like part of the family. Truly, I’m honored.
Erin Fitzsimmons: Thank you, thank you, thank you for such a gorgeous cover.
SCBWI, especially the regional chapters of NJSCBWI and SCBWI Carolinas: Thank you for all you do in creating a safe and welcoming haven for writers both new and seasoned.
The Bruegger’s Group: Thanks for encouraging me (and straining your voices over the cappuccino machine) when I only had a handful of chapters and doubted my ability to write from a boy’s POV. Thanks also for putting up with my Style Savvy obsession, and for the laughter.
Writer buds extraordinaire Meg Wiviott, Gale Sypher Jacob, Judy Palermo, Cindy Clemens, Laura Renegar, Niki Schoenfeldt, Kelly Dyksterhouse, Pat Enright, and my online Paper Wait family: Thank you for getting me, for loving my writing (even when I didn’t), and for calmly talking me down from the ledge during the “Why am I doing this again?” moments. This journey would not be the same without each of you, and I’m forever grateful for your friendship.
My parents, who provided countless hours of babysitting (and so much more) so I could attend my critique group. In a chaotic world, your quiet and unwavering support is my anchor.
My family and friends: You’ve all touched my life in your own special ways. I’m blessed to have you in my corner. Special shout-outs to my sister, Ruthanne, whose regular phone calls keep me sane; Dave, big brother and fiercest fan; Jerry, for blue sangria and for answering all my lawyer-type questions; and my mother-in-law, Mary, whose gentle encouragement and newspaper clippings buoyed many a day when I was down. For Denise, Beth, Kathy, Mil, Sue, and Jack, our friendship is pretty much the backbone of my life and the inspiration for everything. And many thanks to Rob, who speedily and thoroughly answered all of my police questions without thinking twice.
My own promises of amazing: You know who you are . . . This is what I’ve been doing at the computer. Thank you for being mostly patient, but thank you more for always being you. You keep me on my toes in the best way. Hugs and love.
And to Jim, my best friend, muse, and partner in crime who always makes me feel like Samantha Baker at the end of Sixteen Candles. I love you. Let’s get a cupcake.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROBIN CONSTANTINE is a born-and-raised Jersey girl who moved south so she could wear flip-flops year-round. She spends her days dreaming up stories where love conquers all, eventually, but not without a lot of peril, angst, and the occasional kissing scene. This is her first novel. You can visit her online at www.robinconstantine.com.
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CREDITS
Cover art © 2014 by Jasmin Kilic
Cover design by Erin Fitzsimmons
COPYRIGHT
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
The Promise of Amazing
Copyright © 2014 by Robin Constantine
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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